To Fall
by seeleybooths
Summary: Moments of Booth and Brennan falling in (and trying to fall out of) love.


**Yes, I already posted something today, but this literally took me months to write (I'm a master procrastinator), and I just wanted to post it.**

 **Disclaimer: you might not entirely agree with the different time periods I write about, but I felt like they best coincided with the show's timeline, so just go with it haha.**

* * *

He fell in love with her at her apartment.

 _Hot Blooded_ was playing, and she never felt so… normal to him. So real. Before she was unattainable. Just one step ahead. Brilliant, quick-witted, in control. She left him in the dust. Called his gut unreliable and beat him again and again with logic. It was a shield, he could tell. Missing parents and a deadbeat brother left her a shell of something before. He wished to know what it was.

Sometimes he wondered what the old her was like. If she smiled for no reason and scribbled in the margins of her notebooks and crushed on boys for the sake of emotions rather than anthropology.

Sometimes he thought he might be able to get that her back.

But he didn't push. This was the closest thing he had to a friend in a long time. Gambling left him lonely, he never called his brother, and every other FBI agent believed in conformity. He wasn't like them; he couldn't be like them. Black jacket, white shirt, black tie. Similarity. She told him to be different a year before they became partners. She probably didn't remember.

He thought about it every time he put on a red tie.

She was different too. Tenacious, bold, fearless. He lived in a washed out world of blonde eyed women with their blue eyes that were too much ice and not enough summer. She stood out. It wasn't just beauty with her brown waves of hair and warm baby blues. It was her way of challenging him. He took one step forward, and she took two steps even closer.

And now he was playing air guitar while she sang along. She danced like a dork, all limbs and no sense of rhythm. It was cute, amusing, and messed with his heart all at the same time. He was already so enamored by her. It left him missing her when he really shouldn't be because they're partners. Just partners. She was fairly blatant about how much she detested the idea of a relationship. Her idea of relationships was satisfying biological urges. His mind was twisted with the irrational desire for forever.

So when she opened her mouth and a flow of lyrics she shouldn't know came flying out, he knew he was screwed. Maybe they weren't as different as he believed. They were opposites in the obvious. Brains versus gut. Logic versus emotion. Scientist versus agent. But that was the surface. Unwritten words on skin. Internally, they ticked the same way. It wasn't how their pulses thrummed at the same pace or bickered with the same flick of the tongue.

They were driven. Their jobs reigned in their persistence and turned it into justice. They were stand outs. He felt a step out of line at the FBI, and she carried herself with a purpose that extended beyond the Jeffersonian name. They were broken by their pasts. Her abandonment left her cold, and his unspoken abuse kept him untrusting (except of her).

And they were both fans of Foreigner.

It was years later that he would call this song _their_ song. But for now, the rhythm of _Hot Blooded_ synced up with his heart that was falling for her. He didn't know it was love because the love he had before was nothing like this. It was out of desperation and rationale, ending in a mess of a proposal and unclear visitation rules of his son.

This kind of love now left him breathless and smiling too much. He craved more but was simultaneously okay with everything staying the way they were. She was more than enough for a man whose wounds went beyond the scars that marred his skin. He didn't need to hide who he truly was around her.

There was a comfortable ease when he went to get a drink from her fridge. It almost felt like he had done this numerous times before. Like he had been going to her apartment every other day of the week for years, listening to rock music and foolishly dancing. Friendship, he realized. This was friendship.

When the bomb went off, he almost blanked out immediately. But before his senses were reduced to black nothingness, there was her. She ran over to him with a blanket, her hands frantically pressing against his body, trying to smother the flame. Her voice was distraught, words drowning in fear. He wanted to tell her he was going to be fine, he had faced worse before. If only he could just open his eyes and see her. See those entrancing blue eyes that he assumed were darting around, worrying, caring. The feeling of her hands against his chest began to fade, and his ears were consumed by a dull hum.

He wasn't afraid. She was there. Smart, driven, rational Brennan always trying to do the right thing. She would be the one to save him.

But he decided he didn't mind if he died because at least the last image he would ever see would be of her.

* * *

She fell in love with him in Vegas.

Of course, she didn't call it love. She didn't even realize that's what she felt. It was acting, not real. Roxie Scallion and her almost fiancé. Almost because marriage was impractical. Even in the realm of make believe, Brennan did not want to be tied down like that.

Pretending to be in a relationship with Booth was _too_ easy. They slung their arms around each other and threw looks towards one another that made everyone else in the room seem nonexistent. This closeness was infuriating, hands slipping over hips and lips nearly catching ear lobes as they whispered into each other's ears.

His scent was intoxicating. He sprayed on a heavy dose of cologne that screamed Italian man from the Jersey shore, and she kept leaning in closer. She never noticed his lips until now, a soft pink and somewhat bowed. They were slightly chapped, and he ran his tongue over them. It was nonchalant from his point of view, but her eyes were fixated with the irrational wonder of what his smirk would feel like against her mouth. His nose nearly brushed hers every time they turned to look at each other. She should have been stepping back, pushing his hand away and ridiculing him for how bad of an idea this was.

Instead, she slapped his ass back and watched him in pride (or maybe it was lust) as his fists collided with the punching bag. His arms were massive, and she could see the muscles of his back flex under his white shirt. For the first time ever, her biological urges got the best of her and all she could think about was how _hot_ he was as Angela would say eloquently so. She could have been partnered up with any agent at the FBI and yet, she landed the Adonis of the crop.

Of course, it helped make their undercover work look more realistic with Booth's physique being one of a boxer's. He threw punches akin of a pro and wore a cocky smirk like he had done this time and time again. The underground ring would be lucky to have him, and Brennan saw him in a new appreciation that had her head spinning. He truly was the best agent. Even in their moments of biting remarks and scorching glares, she couldn't deny his unrivaled skills. The evidence was all there: kind, selfless, strong Booth. Maybe he was the reason luck was a word.

She was lucky to have him.

They said nothing when they shared a bed at a hotel within the casino. They said nothing when they woke up and realized they were using the same pillow. They said nothing when Booth's hand slipped off her hip, and Brennan's feet untangled from his.

It was meaningless, Brennan thought as she slipped into another dress that Booth picked out for her. She curled up next to him simply because of the heat that radiated from his skin. It was science and fact that humans craved warmth, especially during moments of rest.

Now if only her heart would stop beating so fast.

Her heart didn't stop hammering against her rib cage when she saw the man that Booth would have to box. He was even taller and more muscular than her partner. Booth visibly stiffened at the sight of his opponent, taking in a shaky breath and casting Brennan a nervous glance. But she nodded back with a look of confidence because this was Booth. He had seen hell multiple times before and somehow always prevailed.

So when Brennan found the man's weak spot, it was easy for Booth to take him down. Repeated blows to the kidney, and the once terrifying foe was down for the count. Despite his win, Booth was streaked with cuts and blood, and Brennan had to support him when they got out of the ring. Her heart still pounded, but it wasn't out of fear for him. It was just him. He had her blood coursing with something more than desire, something more like care and worry that she didn't know still existed in her logical mindset. Of course, she should care in some regard. He was her partner.

But this kind of attentiveness was different. She didn't know she could feel this way.

It was weeks later that she got buried alive.

Her first thought was of him.

It was illogical. Her mind should have prioritized getting out of there, should have been blank of thought with the exception of trying to figure out how to make it out alive. But his name and face kept popping up with the question of what would Booth do.

And then came the most irrational thought: he would save her. Not because she was incapable of saving herself as she was no damsel in distress cliche, but that he would save her because he cared about her. She knew he did. He didn't bring her Chinese food or hug her or ask her if she was okay for the sake of being a nice guy.

And it scared her. He cared, and someday he might care too much, and she might not care enough back. Or be able to show how much she did. Or accept that kind of care because now she was close to dying, and he probably didn't even know how much she valued him already. She called Angela her best friend, but the way Booth implement himself into her life was dizzying and quick, and she still didn't have a word for him yet. The cross between partners and friends and close confidents was without a definition.

Maybe she'd just call it the Booth Paradox.

That's when Hodgins mentioned love, and Brennan tasted the word in her mouth for a moment. Hodgins loved Angela. She consumed his life to the point that he bought her expensive perfume. Angela was destined to push him away, and yet he still pulled himself back in as the chemicals that created love meddled with his brain. Brennan wanted to see the flaw in this, but she couldn't. Hodgins was bleeding out, his words already rasping with stolen breaths, and yet his worries were focused on Angela.

She still didn't want to believe in love. But something ate at her heart when she came up with a plan that was practically suicidal. Blowing up the airbags was an idea of either pure genius or guaranteed disaster. If something went wrong and they didn't make it, there would be so many things left unsaid. Angela would never hear Hodgins say I love you. Booth would never hear Brennan say…

He would never hear her say…

The sound of Hodgins ripping paper broke her thoughts. It didn't take her long to realize he was going to write a goodbye note. This really could be it. They could die trapped in a car where no one would ever find them. They could become nothing but bones.

Hodgins looked at her.

"Anyone you want to say goodbye to?"

There was only one name she could think of.

* * *

He tried to fall out of love with her the night after she said no.

He took a gamble, and he lost. He watched her push him away through his tears. Watched her cry back, saying she didn't have his kind of heart. But he didn't care. He loved her heart the way it already was. But she didn't believe him. She said she couldn't do it. He said he always knew she was the one. She still couldn't do it.

He told her he was going to move on. He needed to find someone who had his idea of love, the kind that last for thirty or forty or fifty years. She told him she understood. They walked away from that tragic moment, arms locked. It didn't make any sense. They broke each other's hearts but couldn't let go of each other.

He should have let go. He needed to let go. But he didn't know how because this was Brennan. Rational and confusing and yet the one who he loved more than anyone else. He didn't know how to be who he was without her. She saw him through the last five years of his life.

They'd stay partners. That would be the compromise. And then he would find someone new, and she would learn how to open her heart up to another man, and it would be okay. They'd still be partners and good friends. They weren't meant to be. This was a merely blip in the story of them. This was something they would move past.

At least that's what he told himself.

But then she asked him to slow dance with her at her high school reunion. It was the prom she had never gotten, and the prom he wished he could have given her all those years ago. He thought about what they might have been like in high school if they went together. Of course, he was five years older than her, but what if they were the same age and lived in the same town?

Would he have harbored a crush on the nerdy girl who found excitement in math formulas and science equations? Would she have thought of him as nothing more than a dumb jock? High school them would have been complete opposites, but he'd like to think they would still find their way to each other. Maybe they would have been partners in chemistry class. And he'd tease her for the way she lit up when the teacher mentioned it was time to do a lab, and she'd try to tease him back, but redness would creep up her cheeks instead. She would come over to his house for study sessions and finishing lab reports, and he'd find himself falling for her. Then prom would come around, and he'd ask her to go with him, and she'd say yes.

He would have given her the best prom imaginable.

Brennan rested her chin on his shoulder as they danced to a slow song. This wasn't how he was supposed to be moving on, not when his brain was focused on the warmth of her body so close to his and the whiff of her sweet perfume. A smile made its way to his lips as she held onto him, a gentleness settling over her usually stiff persona. It felt like it was just the two of them, getting lost in the melody of the music and each other's breaths.

Eventually the music stopped, and they separated. Booth couldn't shake the smile on his face, and Brennan looked at him in that way he had to learn to not confuse with love.

She didn't love him.

He had to accept it.

So when their next case landed them at an aquarium and a cute marine biologist piqued his interest, he saw this as the first step of moving on.

And it was going well. Or at least he thought it was. But there Brennan was, talking about seeing other people, and yet all he could see was her. He told her of the marine biologist, but the words cut his tongue like ice because the name that should have been passing over his lips was hers. It shouldn't have been Dr. Catherine Bryar. It should have been Dr. Temperance Brennan.

She looked so beautiful. She always did. It was any other day at work, but Booth couldn't help look at the way her green dress accented her eyes or how her brown waves of hair framed her face. He had watched her for hours, weeks, years, but the feeling was the same. A woman as beautiful as her brains. It shouldn't have been possible for the world to give him someone who was near perfect.

He wanted her to stop. Stop talking about Catherine Bryar and compatibility and prettiness because he didn't believe it. He told her he was seeing someone, but in this moment, he felt blind.

His next sentence was dangerous, but it stumbled out of his mouth before he could do anything about it.

"Bones, you are the standard."

He couldn't get over her.

* * *

She tried to fall out of love with him when she came home from Maluku, and he came home from Afghanistan.

"Her name's Hannah."

And he was in love with her.

Brennan couldn't fault his logic. Hannah was beautiful. Blonde hair and symmetrical features and everything that a man lusted over. There was a light in Booth's eyes when he talked about Hannah, a kind that hadn't been there the last time she saw him.

The last time. The airport. Holding his hand. Watching him walk away.

She let him go. Why was she shocked to see him move on?

Angela prodded, Sweets poked, the rest of the team asked. Was she jealous? Why weren't her and Booth a couple? Because that's what they were, right? A couple just without the sex.

But Brennan brushed them off with rational rambles and the wave of a hand. Booth was happy, and Hannah was kind, and he wanted the kind of relationship Brennan wasn't sure she believed in. Or maybe she did believe in it, but she didn't believe in it for herself when it came to him. Booth was handsome and selfless and capable of always finding someone more, someone better, someone not her.

And now, the man who once looked at her like she was the stars found the sun in someone else instead.

A dull ache sat in her rib cage that she steadfastly ignored. Something like Booth's gut response but painful. She had no right to feel this way, she tried to convince herself. Booth was one of her closest friends. He deserved to find a kind of love that matched his definition of it. But this was _Booth_ if she could truly explain what that meant.

He saw her through everything. Those seven months without him grew to become unbearable. She thought about him a lot in beginning, especially in moments most quiet. It was barely ever quiet with him. He always bounced and laughed and tossed around his gamblers anonymous chip, a constant force of movement that she came to embrace. For so long, she loved the silence. She looked forward to slipping into the quiet cavity of the world after hours, let it be inspecting bones or writing her newest books. But he kept her on her toes with his charming grin, and now it was all so different.

He smiled for Hannah.

She didn't realize how much it affected her until one case led her into a dangerous street being pelted by rain. That bullet of a car would have struck her, possibly killed her, if he wasn't there. It clicked then. A sign from above, Booth might say. She didn't want to miss her opportunity like the cold doctor did with the affable helicopter pilot. It was almost criminal to live in the world and not notice the biggest impact you've made because it wasn't tangible. It was on a person. One person. One you said no to.

But this time it was him saying no to her.

The tears started before she was even aware of them. Salty, warm rivers winding down her rain stricken face. This was so weak, so illogical, so painfully real. Hearts cannot break, they can only be crushed, but it felt like her rib cage was caving in and taking her heart with it. Piercing it and drawing blood, resulting in a rush of throbbing that had her sobbing in the passenger seat of her partner's car. Her partner. That's all he was. All he will be. He made his choice. Hannah.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting. That he would break up Hannah as soon as he got home? That he would then drive back over to Brennan's and kiss her like how they did in front of the Hoover building a year ago?

The man she was now looking at wasn't the one she remembered before leaving for Maluku. Or even before that. It was like they were back at the Hoover building. A cold night met with warm tears and heavy words. His eyes watched her in a similar sadness. But before it was confusion. It was not knowing where he went wrong and made her say no.

This time it was near pity.

He moved on. He fell in love again. And she didn't know why she blamed him, but Sweets once told them they had a special bond between them. He told them they had a surrogate relationship that made all other relationships impossible for them.

But it seemed gone now.

Only months ago were they thousands of miles apart, clinging onto the idea of reuniting again.

Now they're back home, sitting in his car like they'd done thousands of times.

And she had never felt further from him.

* * *

They knew they were going to be together (forever) after getting stuck in an elevator.

But at first it was anger, blackness dissolved into already dark eyes. Booth leaned back, jaw set and on the verge of snapping. Brennan had never seen him this way. He was a quiet type of anger, the kind that started in his sternum and blazed through his chest like fire. Fingers would turn into fists and words would be swallowed.

But then Sweets walked over, and Booth's fire turned into an inferno. He threw the frozen bag, the plastic splitting and peas flying everywhere. Sweets watched in shock and stumbled away. Brennan looked at Booth as his head hung, his actions finally syncing with his thoughts.

It hurt to see him in pain, but she was hurting too. She missed him. Missed how they used to be.

Then they got closer.

His mouth was close. He looked up at her in that kind of daze she forgot how much she craved. Something about how they would be sexually compatible rolled off her tongue as he continued to dumbly nod and fall into a further haze. If she leaned forward, her lips would be on his. It was a thrilling thought, but one too soon to entertain. He was still angry. She was still letting down her final wall.

Soon, they decided that night. Soon, their time to be together, to be something more, to be a couple, would happen. After all, they wrote it down on pieces of paper like Booth suggested. Their dates were burned into the air, bound to the universe.

A type of written destiny if Brennan believed that.

The days ticked by, a feeling of normalcy returning to their partnership. They had missed the mental closeness shared between them. The elevator brought them together in a physical sense, but it was their bond that had enraptured them for so many years.

But then the dates they burned in the candlelight didn't matter anymore.

Vincent was dying.

He collapsed to the ground, his voice frantic and quickly losing breath. Brennan could barely see, her eyes glazed with tears as her hands pressed harder to his chest. His lab coat became more and more doused in red. There was so much blood, and she should have known he wasn't going to live, but she couldn't stop, couldn't quit. This was Vincent. Her favorite intern. He was young and eager and now the light began leaving his eyes. He doesn't deserve it. He wanted to stay.

He was dead.

Booth ended up being the voice of reason. _You did what you could_.

And for the first time in her life, what she did wasn't enough.

Now, she had always thought the term "falling in love" was absurd. You didn't fall. Your brain released a rush of brain chemicals that simulated joy and euphoria and lust when you were around a specific person. That wasn't falling. That was biology ensuring the survival of the human race as people consummated these romantic feelings.

But then she fell into his arms that night.

He was strong and comforting under her fragile and grieving frame. She held onto him and felt her sadness consume her, and he let her. She was soaking his shirt with her tears, but he said nothing. He only hugged her back.

Then it all changed.

It wasn't the date she wrote down, but it felt right. His lips were soft under hers, tentative and posing a question of what this meant, where they were going. The way her mouth pressed onto his said _forward, together, finally._

Clothes were shed and bodies moved with careful, languid exploration. She brought her hand over his chest, feeling the thump of his heart and thinking how in his version of love, everything he felt towards her stemmed from each and every beat. His first two fingers rested over her heart too, and she finally understood what he meant by making love.

Physics be damned.

They became one that night.

And then plus another.

She looked at the pregnancy test, the plus sign staring back her. For all of her life, she had been adamantly against having a child. Her career was her priority, not motherhood. And then there was the issue of actually connecting with the child. She knew her rationality kept a distance between her and most others, so dealing with a baby who had zero comprehension of their surroundings would only make it worse.

Except, this was Booth's child.

And for some reason, she wasn't so afraid of that plus sign.

Seeing Angela give birth to Michael Vincent set in the reality of Brennan's situation. She had to tell Booth. The air of the night was cool against her skin and a slight feeling of nervousness settled into her throat as she opened her mouth to speak.

"I'm pregnant. You're the father."

But she didn't need to worry.

His smile was blinding.

* * *

"We made it," the husband whispers into his wife's ear as they dance for the first time as a married couple.

"What do you mean?" She asks, watching him as he smiles back at her. He looks so handsome in his tux, and he's already told her again and again that she looks beautiful in her dress. All their guests surround them and watch them dance, yet it still feels as though they are the only two people in the room.

"At one point, I almost gave up on the idea of us getting together after everything we had gone through." He smiles wider. "But we did it. We fell in love in spite of the odds."

"I'm happy we did," she brushes her lips against his, "because there's no other man I want to spend the rest of my years with."

"Good," he says, "because I don't intend on loving anyone else either."

She lets out a gentle laugh. "To think I was once against getting married. You changed everything I expected to happen in my life."

He smirks. "You're welcome."

She continues: "And now we have another chapter of unexpected moments to look forward to as husband and wife."

"Are you ready for it, Bones?"

"With you, Booth? Always."

* * *

 **Writing this made me realize I really will never get over their love story. I love their love so much.**


End file.
